


the first law

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Category: Spider-Gwen (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen, character death discussed but not described
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 02:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18357002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: It's just the two of them and the bridge that's haunted his dreams for the last decade.





	the first law

**Author's Note:**

> Last time I posted a fic on here I believe my only note was "I've been thinking a lot about Gwen Stacy". That's... still true

“Ugh. How did I know I’d find you here,  _brooding_?”

Peter huffs a laugh, lifting his chin from the forearms crossed over his knees to look up at her. It does something complicated to his insides, having Gwen Stacy- sixteen and full of life- standing next to him on top of this bridge.

“Spider-Gwen, Spider-Gwen, does whatever a Spider-Gwen does,” he taunts, sing-song and offkey, and everything that follows is familiar, from the disgusted wrinkle of her nose to her annoyed huff.

Blonde hair whipping wildly in the wind, she drops down next to him, heavy like a stone. “Don’t make me push you off.” Gwen elbows him sharply.

Peter scoffs. “Right, sorry for intruding on  _your_ alone time.”

“Yeah, well, the Midtown High gymnasium just isn’t as  _scenic.”_ Gwen throws her arms wide, fingers spread. Then she smacks his shoulder, leaning in as she adds conspiratorially, “Hard to get my brood on when I’m surrounded by dodgeballs and acne face losers.”

Peter glances over, but he can’t read her face, in profile and half-hidden behind her hoodie.

He knows it’s stupid–it’s still a little painful, realizing that.

His Gwen? He knew what she was thinking upside down and backwards, from a mile away and with a blindfold on. But this girl- beyond even the obvious- she’s not the person that a decade ago he was ready to marry, if only he could just scrape together the money for a ring.

This is Gwendolyne Stacy, through the punk rock looking glass.

Peter snorts. “Hey, what’s the first law of thermodynamics?” he asks dryly, and the Spider-Woman of Earth-65 curls one lip up in that patented teenager sneer.

“If this were the fifties I’d be calling you a square and stealing your lunch money,” she says scathingly.  Her fingers tap a restless rhythm on her thigh, and Peter holds his tongue as his spider-sense hums, a solemn little buzz at the back of his neck.

The moment stretches on.

Wind whistles quietly over spandex; traffic trundles along far below them. It’s just the two of them and the bridge that’s haunted his dreams for the last decade, and finally Gwen adds, stilted and hoarse, “My Peter was a nerd, too.”

Peter breathes in. He breathes out.

Gwen holds herself ramrod straight and  _that_ –that’s the Gwen he knew, he thinks ruefully; too proud to admit she needs someone to lean on.

“C’mere, kiddo,” he says, holding out an arm, and she flings herself into his side, not quite managing to hide her face before the tears start to fall.

“I miss him,” she sobs.

Peter lifts his face to the sky, rubbing her shoulders soothingly. “I know, sweetheart.”

“It  _hurts_.”

He closes his eyes. “I know, sweetheart.”


End file.
